welcome aboard, space marine

[bloodbathing]

WHO: Agent Maine
WHERE: South Village fountain & inn. North Village ... everywhere.
WHEN: December 27th-30th.
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: Language. (Please note that Maine has a violent temper. For permissions and a link to his opt-out, check his info post.)

---

Fountain: Just Keep Swimming (CLOSED: first come, first served!)

When Agent Maine opens his eyes, he's underwater.

It's not the most disorienting way he's ever woken up. That "honor" probably belongs to one of the times he came out of cryo, or maybe a time when he hit the ground and rolled for cover before consciously registering the sounds of an attack. Still, it's pretty high up there. He kicks hard and surfaces with a gasp. Treads water as he looks around, trying to figure out where the hell he is.

Did he blackout at a party or something? He doesn't feel drunk. Last thing he remembers is killing the target and taking the briefcase. Carolina and York arrived to retrieve him, and ... then he woke up underwater.

What the fuck's going on?

The massive Freelancer shakes his head and starts swimming for the edge. He'll figure it out after he gets solid ground beneath him.



Inn: People Are Friends, Not Food

Socialization isn't a strength of Maine's. He's taciturn to a fault, preferring to speak through body language, facial expressions, and grunts rather than using words. He's picky about his personal space; he's distrustful and unfriendly towards strangers; he has the opposite of an approachable demeanor. Oh, and there's the not-so-trivial fact that he's seven-feet-tall, four hundred pounds, and built like he could throw a car. (If there were any cars around, that is.)

But the shitty thing about being in a strange place with archaic technology and little information is that Maine has to gather intel. And, unless he's beating it out of someone, he's really bad at it.

So here Maine sits in a chair that looks like it might snap beneath his frame — or else catch on fire, given how close he's pulled it to the fireplace. He's wearing what looks like every single piece of clothing from his pack (minus the peacoat; that's draped over the back of his chair), including a black baseball cap to cover his shaved head. Everything about his attire screams 'Newbie,' and yet he's not approaching anyone for help. Instead, he's eyeing people. Sizing them up. Silently debating how to approach.

... So maybe saying 'socialization isn't a strength' is a huge understatement.



North Village: Mine! Mine! Mine!

The house that Maine decides to claim as his own is a large one with far more rooms than he knows what to do with. But its location is defensible, it's removed from the general population, and it has a fireplace. As far as the cold-loathing space marine is concerned, that makes it the best antiquated, poorly insulated, low-tech hovel around.

It's easy to spot Maine moving around the North Village, familiarizing himself with his surroundings and carrying supplies to his chosen house. Anyone who approaches will be greeted with a flat look and a low grunt of acknowledgment. Not exactly friendly — but he does pause what he's doing to see what the person wants.



Wildcard

( ooc: None of these look good? Come at me with something else! For TDM continuations, click here. )

Comments

tdm continuations

[bloodbathing]

( ooc: Continuing threads started here! )

[morphogenia]

Kamala blinks up at him as she realizes that Frank missed this charity case. This guy must really be new. She ducks her head, letting her hand fall down to her side, and sighs loudly. Clearly this is something she needs to solve for him. Her head whips back up as she resumes pointing. It's rude, but she's gonna power through this. "I am going to get you a hat, mittens, and a scarf from my house. I will be back so don't you dare leave until you get what you need not to freeze to death!" She puts down her hand. It's starting to dawn on her he has probably been holding onto that wood for a reason.

"Also the firewood goes over there." She tilts her head in the right direction before starting to head out. Great talk, Maine. BRB.

[bloodbathing]

It's far from the first time that a small and authoritative woman has given Maine orders. His current commanding officer back home fits that description to a T. Thing is, Maine usually knows said women — or, at the very least, can tell their rank at a glance. But this girl?

This girl is a girl. A teenager at most. He's a Freelancer, and he's getting scolded and ordered around by a kid.

Before Maine can do much more than stare, she turns and starts marching out. Mutely, he watches her go. Looks at the bundle of firewood in his arms. Looks back at the door. Looks at the place she indicated.

... Dammit.

The massive man strides over to deposit the firewood. Then he turns and frowns at the door.

If an adult stranger were to shout orders at Maine, he'd respond by snarling and likely shoving them out into the snow. But a kid? ... He can't get mad at a kid. Besides, he really needs some warming clothing. So he folds his arms and waits, scowling at the door all the while.

[morphogenia]

Kamala treks through the snow for the short walk to House Six. As usual, she's grateful that Frank made it here first. He would pick the best location to stay in touch with people. He'd have a variety of stuff for her to pick from too as far as winter gear goes. She's back in twenty with a bundle: a black hat, gloves, and a scarf with teal stripes. She's all smiles if only because he's actually here like she asked. She's bossy, but even she can't be sure that's enough to convince a guy with muscles the size of her head to wait for her. "Sorry for the wait! I couldn't figure out what color would look nice on you since we've only known each other for like five minutes tops."

There was also this problem which Kamala only divulges after she stomps out her boots and walks over to offer the bundle of homemade wool items. "These are the biggest ones I could find. Sorry if they're a little snug, but at least you'll stay warm-ish until we can make some new ones."

[bloodbathing]

For Maine, those twenty minutes are spent warming himself by the fireplace. He strips off his outer layers and hangs them on the backs of chairs, then pulls those chairs close to the fire as well. He's determined to be both warm and dry by the time he has to venture back out into the cold.

Removing layers really doesn't help make Maine look any less massive. If anything, it only reveals that his bulk has nothing to do with clothing. So he's a little surprised when, once again, the commanding girl approaches without a hint of fear.

He's starting to get the feeling he shouldn't be surprised. That maybe she's just some sort of firework in human form.

At the mention of color, the space marine shrugs. He has a preference, of course, but he values function over appearance. The bundled fabric feels warm when he accepts it. Maybe that's just in his head. Some kind of unconscious reaction to touching the wool.

The items look well-made. Hell of a lot better than what he'd been working with. He's used to wearing black ... and the teal stripe reminds him of Carolina.

Maine meets the girl's eyes and nods. "Thanks," he grunts. His voice is deep and sounds a lot like a growl, but the word is clear.

[morphogenia]

Firework in human form is the best way to describe Kamala Khan. She may be the tiniest person here, but that really doesn't stop her. She lets very little intimidate her including a guy who probably has muscle as big as her head.

She smiles at the thanks. "You're welcome. Next time say something, okay? There's always someone who can help." While it's not her job here, it had been once. She can't really stop doing it.

[bloodbathing]

It's a commendable thing for Kamala to continue doing. Unfortunately, Maine is quite frankly terrible at asking for help, even when he desperately needs it. Might as well ask him to retreat without an order, or back down from a fight.

The massive man presses his lips together and breaks eye contact. Looks instead at the scarf as he runs a thumb over the teal stripe.

"Made this?" he asks. It's not the accent color he'd normally have chosen, but it's nice. He likes it.

for wash

[bloodbathing]

( ooc: continued from here )

Given his sheer size and his dubious (at best) skill in stealth, Maine's been easier to spot around the Village. However, he's stuck primarily to the North Village, which is almost entirely vacant. Might not be the most convenient choice, but that doesn't bother Maine. Better to deal with inconvenience than live surrounded by people he doesn't know or trust.

So Maine's not surprised that he and Wash haven't seen each other. He offers a nod of acknowledgment, then watches his friend's face as the other man thinks.

It's strange. Wash doesn't just look exhausted; he almost looks like he's older than Maine remembers...

At Wash's question, Maine blinks in surprise. Gives the other Freelancer a curious look before answering, "Sarcophagus. Secured briefcase."

'Secured,' he says. Like he locked it in a safe, rather than leaping onto the hood of a moving vehicle and slaughtering the safe's former guardian.

Re: for wash

[notyourrookie]

The sarcophagus. Fuck. Wash's hands clench against the edge of the table. That mission, that one mission which had changed everything. And that's what Maine remembers? How isn't sure how this is possible, even after hearing about it. Isn't sure he'd believe any explanation anyway.

"You sure? Nothing else? Nothing- nothing afterwards?"

[bloodbathing]

Maine's eyes dart down to Wash's hands, watching the way the knuckles grow pale. Then his gaze returns to Wash's face, concern etched in the furrow between his brows. He's trying to make sense of Wash's reaction. Trying to figure out what's wrong.

Mutely, Maine shakes his head. He secured the briefcase and started approaching his teammates. Next thing he remembers?

"Woke underwater."

Offered with a minute shrug. He has no idea what happened in the interim.

It doesn't occur to him that Wash might remember something more. Instead, Maine wonders if Wash is trying to fill a gap in his memory. Trying to figure out how they got here. Maybe that's why he looks so troubled.

With no idea how else to help, Maine folds his hands on the table and tilts his head with a questioning grunt: "theories?"

That's right. With no enemy for them to pummel, and with Wash so physically jumpy, Maine's attempting to Talk Things Out with his friend. Talking about shit is supposed to make people feel better, right?

... Look, he's trying.

[notyourrookie]

Woke underwater. Did he mean here? Wash had woken underwater, in the fountain and half drowned himself before crawling out. Or did he mean... He remembers the Meta plunging off a cliff into the frozen water below. Is it possible that's what he remembers? He was unconscious for a long time after being shot, and then Sigma... Fuck, what if he'd somehow remembered, somehow become himself again, just after plunging into the ice.

That's a hell of a thought.

"No. No theories. I don't have a clue where we are. Or how we got here. Just... I needed to know."

[bloodbathing]

Unaware of the possibility he inadvertently put in his friend's head, Maine nods. Wonders if the "where" and "how" are going to dig at Wash. Those questions are less important to Maine than they perhaps should be. He's focused primarily on surviving in this new, potentially hostile environment. Figuring out how it happened is something to deal with later.

Maybe it's a reflection of how action-oriented Maine is. Or maybe it's a consequence of his relationship to things like slipspace: he has no idea how it works, but it does, and that's enough.

Seeking to take Wash's mind off of what Maine considers pointless questions, he speaks up.

"Found house. Good location."

The place isn't fortified (yet), but it's defensible. And it has more room than Maine knows what to do with. Might be more room than Wash knows what to do with, too. A consequence of living in shared spaces and on spaceships for so long.

That said, Maine tilts his head toward the door in question. Does Wash want to go settle in?

(And maybe Maine should ask if Wash wants to stay with him, first. But, given his friend's rough state and the unknown environment, Maine's more likely to pick Wash up and carry him there than let his teammate slip away.)

[notyourrookie]

He doesn't want to think about that, but now it's in his head, he's never going to be able to get it out. He'd had to fight down everything when it came to working with the Meta. He'd forced himself to believe that there was nothing left of Maine in there, just the twisted remains of the AI fragments using the shell of his body.

"A house?" He hasn't even considered where he's going to stay. He hasn't considered much of anything. But a place to stay would be a plan.

"Show me."

for frank

[bloodbathing]

Fortunately, Maine isn't looking to provoke reactions. If anything, Frank's generally unfazed demeanor has been rather refreshing. Maine is accustomed to strangers cowering at the sight of him. He's used to conversations where the other person's nervousness bleeds through, and they wind up stammering and awkwardly trying to get Maine to speak more. It's sort of nice, talking to someone who doesn't seem to give a shit.

However, unlike Frank, this is Maine's first interdimensional trip. His eyebrows raise in surprise as he gives Frank a quick once-over, focusing now on the man's attire rather than his face.

With a gesture to their surroundings at large, Maine asks, "Know this tech?"

Sorry, Frank. Maine's no history buff. He knows the technology here is old, but he doesn't know how many hundreds of years.

[oorah]

Whether he wants to get reactions or not, the fact remains that Frank has been irreversibly changed by his experience in Reims. And he knows by this place as well. Whether his body experienced all of those things or they're merely the memories he carries now doesn't seem to matter. He notes Maine glancing him over and looks down at his own clothes to see if anything's amiss. He generally dresses like a hobo here, layers of secondhand clothing in varies stages of disrepair, and today is no exception. It almost makes him miss the handmade cotton jumpsuit he always wore in Reims.

The tech. He shrugs a shoulder, understanding enough what he's being asked. "It's older than what I'm used to. Maybe from 1920, tops."

[bloodbathing]

The layered clothing says more to Maine about how long Frank's been here, comparatively, than it does anything else. Of course, Maine's running on the assumption that everyone shows up in scrubs. No one has given him strange looks for wearing them. Just the usual wide-eyed looks at his size.

1920. Maine looks up and to the side, trying to recall why that time in Earth's history sounds familiar. Something about a World War, he thinks. Maybe the first one? He's more familiar with the weapons than the dates — but unfortunately, he's yet to find any proper weapons here.

After nodding in acknowledgment, the Freelancer belatedly holds out a big, calloused hand to shake.

"Maine."

[oorah]

It's kind of refreshing, having someone around who only says a few words at a time. It makes him feel better about his own deficiency there, even as he reaches out a smaller but just as calloused hand to accept the handshake firmly accompanied by an equally firm nod.

"Frank." Which he thinks he said, but just in case.

[bloodbathing]

Refreshing, indeed. As unsettling as Frank's far-too-familiar appearance is, Maine finds that he's grateful to have run across the other man. Communicating with Frank is easy, and that's not something Maine can say about many people.

The big Freelancer nods, acknowledging the more formal introduction. Then he nods to the stack of wood and asks, "More?"

He doesn't know how much the inn needs, but he'd like to do something. Inactivity doesn't suit him.

[oorah]

He follows Maine's gaze to the wood and nods. May as well. Frank moves to help him with that, holding open the Inn door and letting the dogs run out into the snow all over again. Bruno stays behind to keep the couch well-guarded for them, naturally.

"Can never have too much, this time of year," he explains belatedly, looking up as the snow drifts down on them gently. His kids loved the snow, whenever there's weather like this he thinks of staying out with them until Maria was screaming at all three of them to get in the house before they caught their death.

for nida

[bloodbathing]

The quiet is appreciated. Maine doesn't have a helmet that he can use to deaden unwanted noise, after all; if Nida were to start chatting, Maine would have to listen. And that's not something he wants to do when he's already irritated by the cold.

In the silence, Maine can hear the way that Nida doesn't seem to falter when he growls. Yet another unusual thing.

Although the inn isn't hard to recognize, that quiet noise still helps clue Maine in. Keeps him from having to double-check his surroundings to make sure he has the right building. He offers a short nod of recognition and tramps down a path to the door.

Re: for nida

[skyward_eyes]

At least the path to the door isn't nearly as bad as the rest of the path. There are advantages to a lot of people being the same sort of idiotic lookie-loos that get managed every now and then. Once Maine gets them to the stairs Nida forges his own way up them and to the door. Bless. It's a bit awkward with wood in his arms to get the door open, but he has less than Maine right now and so it's important that he tries. Once he's managed it he holds it open with his body for Maine.

"Come on, before we freeze."

[bloodbathing]

The Freelancer stands back while Nida gets the door open. Cold as he is, he's not bothered by how long it may take; it would take even longer if either of them were to set the wood down.

Once the other man has managed the door, Maine ducks through the opening and into the inn. He steps aside quickly, not wanting to block Nida from entering — or from the critical task of shutting the door.

As the warm air hits his face, Maine lets out a quiet sigh, the corners of his lips twitch up in a slight smile. Damn, that feels good.

He'll let Nida lead the way to wherever the wood goes. The other man seems more familiar with this place. And besides, it's not Maine's wood.

[skyward_eyes]

No, it isn't Maine's wood except in that possession was nine-tenths of the law and Nida had no intention of fighting over the last tenth. Especially as he did this as a communal service. Chopped for his house and for the inn some. Every now and then he'd put an extra armload in unused houses in case of situations like this.

"Over here," he said, though it was a bit obvious with the large fireplace crackling merrily along. Once he hit the immediate area by it Nida unloaded his arms and slowly started stacking his cord of wood close enough to use, far enough that a spark wouldn't case a problem.

"Sort of think it's only right to help out with warmth here, you know?"

[bloodbathing]

Like an enormous shadow, Maine follows Nida to the fireplace. He considers placing his portion of the wood on the opposite side, then decides against it. It's not like it's heavy (to Maine, at least); he can wait until Nida's neat stack is ready for more.

A low grunt that sounds like an affirmative is Maine's response. He's casting his gaze around the inn as he waits. Drinking in the warmth of the fire. Noting how inhabited this place looks compared to the house he chose up in the North Village.

"Nice place."

Not by 26th century standards, obviously. But shit, it's got electricity.

[skyward_eyes]

"Yeah, the inn is pretty good here," Nida answered. He had no idea that Maine was up in North Village and had no comparison to what the inn was like up there. "A lot of people start here when they first arrive. Your comment leads me to believe you're relatively new. I'm sorry if I'm wrong."

Electricity and so many appliances running. Of course Nida didn't get drawn to the allure nearly as much as other people. Once his own pieces were stacked he started reaching up into Maine's pile to continue the stack.

"There's a group of people who make sure there is a nice communal lunch every day too. There's a nice thick book over near what I suppose was the desk. It talks about a lot of things that have happened, animals and plants that are dangerous or good. It's almost comfortable. Well, my house is better because it's mine, but you know."